Perhaps it’s the full moon. Or the leaves turning from green to gold to brown, falling at my feet. Or Soten returning home to die or reading about Natalie nearly dying. My dreams have darkened and become most vivid and visceral. But I dreamed this: They seem to bomb us in the very early hours … [read more]
He just doesn’t get it, and then he wants me to fix it. He thinks this shit just happens to him. HE causes it! I’m sick of it. I’m outta here. Who do you mean? My Dad, man. He does the same thing over and over again, repeats the same dumbass mistakes, gets himself into … [read more]
This is from 2014. The grainy photo is from 1973 or so, courtesy Rich Compton.
In a memoir, Anthony Bourdain shared with us that he recalls precisely the moment he decided to become a chef. While working in the kitchen of a middle-of-the-road seafood joint in Provincetown, Massachusetts, serving a large wedding party of which the bride was good friends with Tony’s chef-boss, he and his scullery mates peered out … [read more]
My cat leaps to a height relative to his that would be, for me, twelve feet or more, many times a day, beginning not from a run, but from stillness. When he does so, he has no idea what the landing will be like or what to expect. He simply can’t see that high to … [read more]
She lay on the pavement as the sun rose, her eyes present and wild. She gasped and her tongue hung loosely from her open mouth as she bled out. Her spindly legs twitched and she uttered faint sounds, a mule deer’s death rattle. Tufts of fur were strewn along the road for thirty feet where … [read more]